Crossposted from AO3. Idk if I'll continue it on ff, but I'll see what the readers think.
Pellaeon had been looking forward to being at peace for years. It was a goal that always seemed just out of reach no matter what way he viewed the elusive feeling.
Early after he had taken command of the Empire he had always thought it would come with his own demise. Going up in a ball of fire and shrapnel in the middle of the final stand against the New Republic, going down with his ship. That image had always felt right.
Times changed though, and he had learned to rethink his own definition of peace; as the years went by he started to put his personal beliefs aside in order to save what scrapes were left of the Empire. His own tranquility still eluded him throughout those years, but now it was less important than it had been in the past.
That was what leaders did - they put the bigger picture first.
Ignoring personal trifles was simple when the lives of millions rested on your own shoulders.
When the rumors of Thrawn's return started up, Pellaeon had wished for his own personal peace all the harder. He had been so close to being done, to ending this war - and then just as he had reached the end of his rope some selfish men had to go and cut it.
He was grateful that the problem had been solved relatively swiftly, but it had still taken its toll. It had been a grueling experience, both physically and emotionally, and had impacted every member of the Chimaera's crew.
But the mess with the conman and the others involved had been taken care of. Negotiations with the New Republic had been completed and would go into full effect in a few standard months.
It was not quite peace, but after the emotional ordeal dealing with the fake Grand Admiral, it was close enough to satisfy him.
For the first time in ten years, he finally had the chance to sit down and breathe.
Until the third Thrawn showed up.
Pellaeon had received the message in the middle of a night cycle. He did not make it a habit to check his datapad when he was supposed to be sleeping, but he had already been awake and he was willing to go against self-imposed rules if it meant he did not have to be alone with his thoughts for a few minutes.
The lack of a description, subject, or recognizable sender location had been intriguing. It had also sent a chill down his spine. He would have to wonder, at a later time, if some deeper part of his subconscious had known what the message contained and he would ask himself if it had all been worth it.
He had opened it, and spent the next few hours frantically rereading the message sent from someone claiming to be Admiral Voss Parck, thought to either be dead, or disgraced and removed due his long absence from the Empire.
There had been files pinned to the message, claiming that they should provide some amount of proof to his identity. Pellaeon had poured over them, trying to find something to raise doubts.
The message alone should have raised doubts, but there was nothing Pellaeon could find to outright disprove anything as fraudulent - besides the obvious claim that Thrawn was still alive. He dug up Parck's old records in an attempt to find anything to help, anything to give him a reason to delete the message. They had not been updated since the man was a Captain, and the farther Pellaeon read the more confused the records got, until they simply stopped with him being sent out towards the Outer Regions.
There was nothing he could use - if anything the records even supported the rumors of removal. Parck's message and files certainly seemed to claim that that was the case.
Pellaeon was unsure how he was meant to take any of this. The message had been a shock, and ever since he opened the damned thing he had been battling warring feelings of anger, disquiet, and absolute emptiness.
He did not want to go through this again. He wouldn't - he was incapable of knowing if he could even survive another ruse. There was nothing left in him to give in the efforts of being led around by his nose.
Whatever he had done in his life to deserve this, he desperately wished for a chance to redeem himself from it.
The thought had crossed his mind that these clones were some breed of hydra sent to him. That every time he proved the facsimile for what it was, locked it up and threw away the key, there would already be another in his place.
The thought was enough to make his stomach curl.
It was absurd to take the word of a man who was a disgraced Imperial at best, and long dead at worst. It was cruel and unjust of himself to respond to such inquiries. The treaty was signed, the war was over.
Even if this was the real Thrawn, he would have nothing to come back to.
Why would he even come back now? After all this time, why now when there is nothing left to fight for?
Had he left it all to Pellaeon, believing that he could handle fighting off the rebellion without him? Without guidance or help?
No, that did not make any sense. Thrawn had wanted to win the war and he would have known that Pellaeon could not lead them to victory. He did not have Thrawn's ability or genius.
Then why come back now, not even a week after I have given up, when I have been struggling for years?
Perhaps it was some final cruelty.
Perhaps he knows that I have failed and has come to tell me.
An image of the Grand Admiral in his command chair, blood dripping down and staining the front of his tunic, pops into Pellaeon's head. An image of red eyes that no longer glow and an emotionless voice as it icily berates him, tells him what a disappointment he is.
"I expected so much more from you."
"I should not even be surprised. You could barely keep up with me when I was alive, I do not know why I expected any different when I was gone."
"I chose you out of a hundred officers and this is the effort I receive?"
It did not stop Pellaeon from responding.
If there is even a chance that this was real, he is obligated to respond.
Even as his own masochistic thoughts stabbed at his heart, there was the smallest flicker of hope.
That he even still dared to have such feelings after all he had been through told Pellaeon that he had not yet suffered enough.
It was there regardless, and he knew that he would suffer that spark of belief being crushed a thousand times more if it meant that just once it would be validated.
If the road through Hell lead to Thrawn, then he would walk it.
The Empire may have finally been at peace with the end of the war, but Pellaeon still had hope that he could achieve that carefully formed tranquility.
He had finally realized that the reason peace had eluded him for so long was that it did not lie in death nor a treaty but with the man who had promised the galaxy to the Empire, and had died trying to deliver it.
Pellaeon had told Captain Ardiff something reasonable about it being the Empire's duty to flush out such lies when he told him about the message sent from Wild Space.
He could keep his own foolish hopes to himself.
He was allowed that much.
Response had been slow, but as Pellaeon's correspondence with Parck continued, they reached a point where multiple messages were being sent every twenty-four hours. Each of the two men probed the other, had asked questions and made inquiries as they tried to figure out just what the other was getting at. Despite seemingly mutual doubts, the conversation was refreshingly pointed.
Either the sign of honesty, or an attempt to hide something behind a facade of confidence.
It had taken three days after he had opened the initial message to receive the sentence he had been waiting on: "Grand Admiral Thrawn wants to speak with you in person."
Against his better judgement, against every last self-doubt and suspicion, Pellaeon allowed it. Had even set the meeting place for the Chimaera.
He hoped that he wouldn't regret this. He desperately did not want to - the embarrassment alone might crush him. To catch the first conman but then let the second aboard his ship on the word of a possibly dead Imperial? Pellaeon would have to resign from his station.
It was too late to take back his agreement though. It had been too late ever since he had opened that first message.
On the day they were set to arrive, Pellaeon had sat on his bed, holding his own blaster and debating if he should bring it.
It would not be completely out of place at his hip. This was still a warship regardless of any peace treaty, and after everything he had faced, no one would look twice at him for bringing along a weapon.
An image flashed unbidden through his mind: Thrawn in his command chair, bloodied. Pellaeon standing before him, the blaster in his hand.
A call from Ardiff alerting him to the approach of a transport ship had pulled him out of those thoughts.
In the end, he left the blaster on his bed.
The walk to the hanger bay had been quicker than he had expected, and more than once he considered taking a detour to lengthen the time further. That was the talk of a weaker man though - Pellaeon was too old for such nonsense, no matter how much it may have tempted him.
He joined the small squad of stormtroopers and Ardiff in the bay just as the transport finished its landing sequence. There was not much point in making a grand gesture towards someone who may not even be the Grand Admiral. Pellaeon had nothing to prove to him, not yet.
Even if it did turn out to be the real Thrawn, well, Pellaeon was sure that he would prefer the small group rather than a sprawling regalia.
Not that Pellaeon believed there were not officers who had shoved themselves off into the traffic control rooms along the walls above their small group, packed in tightly to watch whatever was about to unfold. He was not naive enough to think the few that had heard the whispers floating around would not give their all for just a glimpse.
Pellaeon could allow them that much. At least they were not on the ground floor where they could be seen acting like damn fools.
There was a soft hiss from the ship's door and Pellaeon brought his attention back as a loading ramp slid out to smoothly touch the floor.
When the door finally opened, Pellaeon met the eyes of the man who claimed to be Grand Admiral Thrawn.
None of the tumultuous emotions that ran through Pellaeon's body showed on his face, and the other man appeared to be similarly calm. For a few moments they simply stared at each other, and Pellaeon could not decide what that clear gaze meant for him.
What did this man see when he looked at Pellaeon? Was he seeing an easy mark, an old man that could be easily fooled? Or was he seeing his age, cataloging each of the wrinkles ten years of stress had added since he had last seen him or perhaps even the whiteness of his hair?
Thrawn did not hold his gaze as he stepped out from the inside of the ship, eyes flicking downwards to watch where his feet were going, and Pellaeon took the moment to glance over the rest of him.
Surprisingly he was not dressed in the pure white of a Grand Admiral. Instead he was dressed in dark civilian clothes, and while they had an affluent look about them and were cut to fit the form of the man before him, Pellaeon could tell they were meant more for physical comfort than status.
What had lacked in the man's attire, he made up for in demeanor. He moved like Thrawn had all those years ago: smooth, efficient, and even without the uniform you knew that this was a man not to be trifled with. He demanded respect in his gaze alone, and Pellaeon watched out of the corner of his eyes as a few of the stormtroopers - the ones that had served while Thrawn was on the Chimaera a decade ago, if he recalled properly - stood up a little straighter. There was a barely perceptible gasp to his left, and he just barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at Ardiff.
Idiots. I should have just come alone.
There was no guarantee this was real. They had almost been conned once, and while it was doubtful someone would manage to set this up so soon after that debacle, there was still the possibility.
Yet, the small flame of hope Pellaeon had been uselessly trying to quash was alive. Growing with every second.
Waiting to be shattered under another lie.
Maybe this time he would be lucky enough that the heartbreak would kill him.
The man stopped at the bottom of the ramp and his eyes lifted to once again find Pellaeon's. He fought with himself internally to keep any emotion from his gaze.
He would not allow this man to see into his thoughts, his soul.
He would not be fooled again.
I watched Grand Admiral Thrawn die.
Hope could wait until after he received proof that this was not an absolute sham.
Movement caught Pellaeon's attention and his gaze flicked back to the transport's doorway, and he had to blink out of fear that he was seeing double.
The man was of similar completion to Thrawn, but was a few inches shorter than the other blue skinned man he traveled with, with red eyes behind a pair of rounded glasses. As Pellaeon watched him, his eyes rose to meet his stare. A lifetime of military experience kept him from shivering.
Even now Pellaeon can remember the Grand Admiral's gaze, how it had always been easy for him to meet. It had been a gaze that was nigh impossible to read, but there was nothing inherently uncomfortable about eye contact with the Admiral.
There is simply nothing in those eyes. His stare is blank - not in the way Thrawn's had been so long ago, when he knew that the alien had been capable of emotions but was also capable of hiding them with an unfathomable control, but blank in a way that makes Pellaeon think that there are simply no emotions to conceal in the first place.
For a split second, Pellaeon is wholly convinced that the man is not looking at him, but inside of him.
Pellaeon tears his eyes away from that gaze, instead looking downwards to study the other man's attire. He was completely covered from the neck down, not an inch of blue skin to be seen beyond his face. He recognizes it as a uniform, military in nature, but with no visible rank bars to be seen on the black material. The only things on the uniform that are not black are four white bands, one marking each of the tunic's cuffs and another pair higher up on each arm.
The design was nothing familiar, but Pellaeon glimpsed a symbol on the arm bands that was immediately familiar.
He's a medic.
The realization made Pellaeon's blood chill and simultaneously pump faster. A con wouldn't think to bring along a medic would they? Disra and his lackeys had not thought that far ahead - no, he had wanted his own false Thrawn to be as healthy as he had been in the past, before the betrayal. A man who had been run through with a blade would need a doctor nearby though.
To allow a medic to come displayed a sign of weakness, but it was also a sign of authenticity. It added a layer of believably to the story that was being told and Pellaeon was genuinely surprised.
Either these cons where better strategists than some officers, or-
He refused to let himself think of the other possibility out of fear that he might start to believe it, and told himself that perhaps they were simply that good.
The medic fell into place a little behind Thrawn and Pellaeon waited a second longer to make sure no one else came out. No others came out of the ship, and Pellaeon inhaled a steadying breath to calm his nerves before speaking, hoping that his voice would not shake.
"Welcome aboard the Chimaera, gentlemen. I assume that the trip from Wild Space when well?"
"It did," the man who looked like Thrawn responded. "Thank you for allowing this meeting to occur and letting us both aboard your ship."
"Who would 'us' consist of?"
"Only myself and my companion who has been serving as my personal doctor, Dympha. There are others still aboard our transport: two troopers and the pilot, and they will leave with the ship if our meeting goes as anticipated, Pellaeon."
Pellaeon bit back his own correction - that is Admiral Pellaeon to you - because there was no point in making assumptions about his identity.
He wanted desperately to lash out - to let even a mere sliver of emotion seep through his calm exterior, as he nodded at each man in turn.
He sounds just like him.
There had been a long period after agreeing to meet with the supposed Grand Admiral where Pellaeon would just sit alone and think. He would dream up scenarios, let them play out in his head. Hundreds of different actions and reactions, leading to a million different conclusions. Slowly, he desensitized himself to each of them. He could not show any emotion to these people. He would not allow them to have the upper hand by giving them a reaction to work off of.
Reality was harder to bear than imagination.
He wanted to scream, to demand to know who this man thought he was. He wanted to cry and ask him why he left. Warring reactions for two possible conclusions.
None of it slipped past the calm veil of Pellaeon's face.
He would not overplay his hand; if it was not Thrawn then he would not want the other to think that he knew. If it was truly him, then he would not be disrespectful. He only had to get them deeper into his ship. Away from the transport in case of one contingency, and to somewhere they could speak without two dozen eyes staring down at them for the other.
"Sir," Ardiff spoke. "Shouldn't we move this conversation somewhere more private than a hanger bay?"
Pellaeon glanced over his shoulder to give the other man a pointed look. Ardiff, to his credit, managed to pull of a proper expression of chagrin and received a nod of assent - one that was interpreted as approval by the Captain. After all, they had discussed this earlier and found that play acting might be necessary, if not also a bit extreme.
Make them think that there is strife among the ranks. Let them think we are weak, that the younger officers don't know when to keep their mouths shut, and I myself am too old to keep them in line.
The more at ease they are, the earlier they will play their hand. Then, we shall have them.
If they are even lying to begin with.
"The Captain is correct in that regard. If you would all follow me."
Pellaeon turned his back on the others and started walking away. This was the moment: he could not have made it any easier to attack him if that was their plan. They were still close enough to their own ship, and while there were stormtroopers standing nearby it was only a small squad. If the plan was to kill Pellaeon, then now made the most tactical sense. The farther they went into the Chimaera, the farther they were from escape, and the number of troops would only increase.
If they took their shot, he hoped they hit their mark on the first try.
Quick, efficient.
At least then his last thoughts wouldn't revolve around betrayal.
Pellaeon counted his steps, wondering which one might be his last. No shot came however, and as he lead their small group away from the transport he could hear other footsteps falling into pace behind him.
He was relieved despite himself. In the long run this meant nothing; there would be a dozen more chances to press a gun against his back.
The way they went was devoid of any other life since Pellaeon had preemptively assigned troopers to clear out the hallways before they came through. As much as he would have appreciated the safety of witnesses, he refused to put the members of his staff at risk.
He had no control over the rumor mill, but he did not want this Thrawn having any contact with his crew until he knew for sure that he was truly who he claimed to be. The less of a chance this man had to influence anyone, the less of a chance that there would be a drop in moral should he be put down.
They made it to the lift without incident and the four stepped in, leaving the stormtroopers behind as its doors closed. Pellaeon keyed for the floor he wanted and then turned back to face the others.
Dympha, who was staring at the floor readout above the lift doors, did not even glance his way but Thrawn caught his eyes, and they studied each other for a few moments.
Pellaeon could feel his eyes flicking across his face, studying, looking for something, he did not know.
He was unsure if he even wanted to know.
Surprisingly, Thrawn was the first to look away. It was only to glance up at the floor readout and his body language was calm, but Pellaeon could not help but read into it.
Here was the second chance if they wanted to try something. Two against two, but Pellaeon knew that neither Ardiff or himself were armed unless the Captain had a blade hidden in his boot.
He needed to keep at least one of the two men looking at him. There was less of a chance that they would attack if they were being interacted with. If nothing else, it would let them know that they had no element of surprise if Pellaeon was looking right at them.
"We are heading to my personal office. It is one of the only places aboard where I can guarantee we will not be listened in on. Do either of you have any objections to that location?"
"No." Thrawn's eyes came back to meet his again. "It sounds as though that would be the most agreeable option."
Pellaeon nodded and for a second it looked like the other man might say more, but a soft ping interrupted them with an alert that they had reached their destination. They broke eye contact, filed out of the lift, Pellaeon once again leading the small group.
Pellaeon made no move to point out the pair of stormtroopers that filed in after them, blasters held over their chest in case they needed to fire. If the two aliens noticed they didn't mention it although Pellaeon doubted that it had escaped their attention.
It was not a long walk to his office but as they stopped in front of the door and Pellaeon slipped his code cylinder from his pocket, he actually felt nervous.
This was the final door on this journey. Inside would lead to one of two possibilities, and from there a dozen possible consequences branched out.
Deep down Pellaeon knew that no matter what happened, it would end with pain.
There was no good ending to this story.
Either the man was a fraud to be discovered, locked up and executed, or he was who he claimed to be. Finally revealing himself after ten years and for what?
Why?
Why now? When I have mourned for so long, agonized over every second of that final day, why?
It felt as if his nerves were fraying, his own fear a heavy weight hanging in the pit of his stomach.
He slipped the cylinder into the reader and the door's lock clicked.
The door slid open and Pellaeon stepped into his office, not stopping until he reached his desk. He could hear footsteps following him inside, the door sliding closed, and he took a moment to brace himself before he turned around, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against his desk.
This was it. The final stop. One way or another he would get his answer here in this room. Distantly he wondered if he would have to get his office moved after this, if the memories that would now be associated with these four walls would be too much and he would not be capable of finding the peace of mind required to work.
It was a ridiculous notion - but then he started to recall the other rooms on the Chimaera he was no longer able to enter unless it was absolutely necessary. Thrawn's quarters, the secondary command room: tombs aboard a warship, which felt like a coffin itself when the memories came floating back.
Ridiculous notion, he reminded himself and took in the small group of people before him.
His office was not small nor empty, but there was no proper cover other than his own desk, and Pellaeon had cut off that avenue by placing himself in front of it. If the pair of stormtroopers on the inside of the door went unnoticed in the halls they were certainly noticed now, standing at attention on each side of the doorway. There were few items that could be used as projectiles that were not on the desk, and if it reached that point the troopers would have already stepped in to handle the situation. In the absolute worst case scenario, there was the emergency blaster stashed beneath his desk.
No matter what happened, he was as ready as he could possibly be.
No matter what.
"I do not like dancing around a subject," Pellaeon started, glancing between the men before him, keeping his gaze focused on Thrawn.
The man nodded in response. "Then we shall get to the heart of the matter. You know that I could be lying, and you want evidence to the contrary."
"Precisely. Although I have very little faith in the typical ways of proving one's identity. Skin tone can be replicated with make-up. Voice patterns can be faked, as can DNA."
"Indeed, although the recent reminder to the fallibility of such techniques is quite disappointing."
"Yes," Pellaeon agreed, staring down the other man. Of course the real Thrawn would have known about the conman, the timing was too close to that plot's discovery.
Besides, Pellaeon fully expected that if Thrawn were alive, then he would have had some way of keeping track of the Chimaera's and Pellaeon's movements, probably some sort of mechanical recording device reporting in periodically, and more than one spy on the inside. It only made sense that he would have heard the news.
It would be absolutely absurd to think that Thrawn would not have known about Disra's and Tierce's plot.
That meant that it was also wholly unreasonable for a fake to be unaware of the timing.
"All physical means to prove that I am who I claim to be are equally unreliable then. Similarly, anything I then offered on my own as proof would also be highly suspicious, since there would be doubts to its authenticity as well."
"You want me to come up with something then?"
"Yes, Pellaeon. I think it would be best if we clear up all doubts as soon as possible. A suggestion from you yourself would be the easiest way to accomplish this."
It was exactly what he would expect the real Thrawn to have suggested.
It was also something any mediocre con could have offered, if they had enough confidence in their abilities to either lie or predict the mark's own response.
Either way, it was the perfect suggestion.
Well played.
"Tell me something that only the real Thrawn would know."
The blue skinned man didn't even blink. Cliché as it was, it was too open for a conman to be able to answer with anything convincing enough. Pellaeon had expected another question in return, fishing for clues or hints as to what he could possibly say that would convince Pellaeon that this was the real deal.
Instead, the alien simply stared back at Pellaeon, looking thoughtful for a few moments before speaking. "Years ago, shortly after I took the Chimaera as my flagship, I ordered that we go to Tatooine to retrieve something. It was a painting, titled Killik Twilight, and it had just recently been put up for auction."
Pellaeon remembered that adventure quite clearly, though anyone who knew how to dig in records could have dug that up. He neither confirmed nor denied this though, keeping his face blank as Thrawn spoke.
Give him nothing to work with.
"There were many points of interest to how this incident played out, but in particular I remember how furious you were with the events that transpired over that painting. First the risk of expenses, then the danger I put myself in personally when the painting was not retrieved."
Pellaeon kept his face blank but that fire of hope flickered, burned just a bit brighter. He tried to get control of it, ignoring the way it made his stomach churn. Someone is very, very good at digging.
"All of this is merely background information. The point I want to get to, was when you asked to speak with me once I was back on board-"
Extremely good at digging.
"-I had agreed, and we went to my command chamber to speak in private. What happened could hardly be considered speaking. It was our first proper argument; the first of many, if I am being honest, but there was something about that argument in particular that has always stood out in my memory." Thrawn paused, and looked at Pellaeon as if he were seeing him, something almost wistful in his eyes. Pellaeon told himself that it was a trick of the light, almost convinced himself that it was true. "Do you remember what you called me?"
Pellaeon could not respond. He was sure he did not have to, the expression on his face must have answered the question for him.
"You told me that I was a, quote: stubborn-headed sithspawn and that you had no idea what far-flung mental institution I had crawled out of but you would be more than happy to send me back there if I ever did something like that again. You had an interesting way of showing that you cared back then, Admiral Pellaeon."
Pellaeon was vaguely aware of Ardiff mumbling something beside him but Pellaeon was already gone.
His breath caught in his throat and he stared at those red eyes.
The man watched Pellaeon back, impassive, patient. Waiting for Pellaeon to come to the inevitable conclusion.
The command chamber had no cameras or recording devices planted within it. While Thrawn lived, he would have never allowed anyone the chance to enter his sanctum without his permission via hacking anything. Pellaeon also had the whole room wiped over and over again after Thrawn passed, trying to pick up any pieces that might have been left for him.
He tried to explain it away, to think up a reason this man would know about that conversation. How he would be able to quote back Pellaeon own hotheaded insult to his face years after he had spoken it.
There were none.
Not a single explanation as to how, except one.
The raw emotion that welled up inside of him was unidentifiable. It was like being lit on fire.
He could feel the rush of it, the unbearable heat, expanding inside of him.
It felt like his rib-cage might burst. With the way his heart was pounding against his chest he thought that it just might.
It's him.
For a second he was afraid that he might lose consciousness, but willed himself to get it under control.
He was prepared for this - no, no that was a lie, he had thought he was prepared for this.
The reality was so different.
The imagination was a powerful tool, but it could not compare to the visceral feeling of living the experience.
Pellaeon opened his mouth, closed it. He shook his head in disbelief and took a few steps forwards, closer to the man he had waited on for a decade.
There is an almost infinite amount of things he could say. What even could he say? He had thought about this, dreamed it so many times, the words should have just come to him as naturally as breathing.
Nothing came beyond the ragged pain in his chest.
It felt like an out of body experience. He couldn't quite feel his limbs, could barely even hear over the beating of his heart. If it wasn't for the blood rushing in his ears he would think he was dreaming. That this was just another cruel creation of his own subconscious.
But no, this was real.
He had waited so long for this moment. A moment he had never expected to have while still breathing.
It was over.
Finally, after so many years of grieving and suffering, it was over.
He could have his peace.
"Welcome back, Grand Admiral Thrawn."
Pellaeon pulled back his fist, and slammed it into Thrawn's face.